Steady as she goes
by Kpasa
Summary: You do realize that all the men you’ve ever loved, *really* loved, have had names beginning with J? Sammie, baby, you have two choices. Either you make one hell of a life change, or you learn to explore the alphabet. Sam/Hansen, eventual SJ.
1. the world breaks everyone

**Steady as she goes**

Summary: You do realize that all the men you've ever loved have had names beginning with J? Sammie, baby, you have two choices. Either you make one hell of a life change, or you learn to explore the alphabet. Sam/Hansen, eventual SJ.  
Season: Not long after Desperate Measures, Season 5 spoilers  
Rating: PG-13 swears, implied sex, nothing too scarring.  
Disclaimer: I own _nada._ No copyright infringement intended.  
AN: Alright, I'll be honest. I'm pretty awful with "techno-babble". I have a feeling I'm going to get seriously humbled by reviewers. But I'd still love to hear from you! I'm going to edit/redo this chapter later on with the help of a beta.

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"Break a vase,  and the love that reassembles the fragments is stronger  than that love which took its symmetry for granted when it was whole."

_-Nobel Lecture, Derek Walcott_

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**Chapter 1**

It's sitting on your doorstep when you arrive home. You stumble over it as you open the front entrance, catching yourself by the doorknob as you trip and swing forward with its entry, paperwork flying everywhere. You taste blood from the inside of your cheek. God-_fucking-_dammit_._

You grit your teeth and hope your neighbors missed out on your failed trapeze act. But in this neighborhood, that prospect is doubtful. You stare up at the long branches creeping out from beyond the eaves of your roof, sharply cut off by the ceiling. You can discern that motionless sense of time swell in your chest and break with your pulse, as you lie flat on your back with your legs splayed out on the porch feeling like an idiot. Winter means shorter days, and you blame the dark evening for your lack of foresight.

'_Steady as she goes'_, you think, blowing out a breath.

The hard poke in your back serves to remind you of your current position. You grunt and roll over, instinctively collecting your papers as you toss a bitter eye at the large parcel you tripped over. A battered corner of the carton had been squashed by your weight. It stands at attention like a misshapen building, its sad figure resonating with your hurt pride. You freeze as you recognize the name on the return address, papers crumpling in your fists.

Jonas Hansen.

So this is what it feels like to have a stroke.

'_Inhale, exhale, Carter.' _

Why, oh why, did Colonel O'Neill have to order you to leave Cheyenne Mountain with the threat of forcible removal? You could have been in your lab now, pouring over infinitely fascinating off-world gadgets before finally waking up the next morning with alien imprints on your cheek and arms sprawled on your desk. But oh no, instead you get to deal with the ghosts of dead boyfriends past. What a fantastic way to spend your Friday evening.

'_You son of a bitch'. _

Old feelings surface and spill, raging through your veins in a blinding heat. Five goddamn years and he still couldn't leave you alone.

'_Get up Carter'_. A car engine down the streets startles you, and you swiftly gather your papers and the box to make a swift entrance into your empty house, forgetting the keys still hanging from the lock. You press your back against the door, listening to the faint click and ensuing silence.

_Jonas._

All you can remember is how he used to hold your wrists together and refuse to let go. How he'd order you around and throw out phone messages from friends you hadn't seen in years. How furious he was when you accepted that life-changing transfer to the Pentagon, the thousand subtle ways he attempted to keep you in his control, your proper place in that fucked up structure in his head. Your own achieved rank in his perverse chain of command.

You find yourself at the far end of the living room; unable to remember the steps it took to achieve the distance. You flick on a lamp, curling up on the couch, unsurprisingly yet again at the far end. Left of centre. Under the bright yellow glare of the light bulb you can read the return address far more clearly. From: Estate of Jonas Hansen.

Well that would make far more sense. You breathe out a shaky laugh, for a moment you wondered if he was actually out there, alive, some unfortunate consequence of solar flares or parallel universes. Working for SG1 has taken the element of surprise out of many aspects of your life.

You pick at the tape, ripping it apart and flinging open the overlapping edges. The first thing you see is an envelope, your name etched in black ink on white parchment. The handwriting is instantly recognizable, but your attention is grabbed by the slip of matte paper behind it.

And cue mental breakdown.

Why did it have to be _that _picture?

_Sam Carter, are you actually shaking?_

You can see there are dozens among dozens of photographs stacked under it, a few photo albums you barely recognize from times long gone. You hate this picture, this very one. You should have burned when you had the chance. With shaking hands you lift it out of its perch, flipping it over.

_Sammie and Jonas, The barn at Annie's orchard in Steuben, Maine. July 13, 1990._

Annie shot it before you even knew she was there. Jonas had his back to the camera, the silhouette of his long legs leaning against a wall. He was staring at you. You can still hear the buzzing of cicadas in the green of the tall bushes beyond, the feel your dress sliding imperceptibly up your thigh as you swung back and forth. You remember thinking nobody existed in the world at the moment but you and your secret.

You realize in a bitter stab of betrayal that it was Annie who sent this to you. You think that if she truly loved you she would never do such a thing to torment you.

But you recognize the handwriting.

Annie Hansen. You haven't thought about her in years. Which is strange, all things considering. She was going to be your mother-in-law.

You can see her in your mind, her blonde hair streaked with grey, her fair skin absolutely consumed by freckles. You remember she had a laugh you could hear three counties away. You remember her wistful smile as she played with the car radio. You remember her long hair spread out on the porch drying in the hot sun. You remember her dazed expression when you explained what an Ellipsoidal universe was. You remember the day you showed her your engagement ring, when she enveloped you in her arms and closed them tightly about you, swaying you lovingly in the warm sunshine streaming into the kitchen. You remember having to bite back tears, missing your own mother.

That said you have to admit to yourself that Annie Hansen wasn't remotely similar to your long-passed mother. You like to think that they would have been friends, despite being two fundamentally different women with drastically different social classes and political agendas. But Annie was a shade off of reality, and your mother had always depended on stability.

You never knew quite how Jonas came to be who he was with Annie as a mother. She was a former southern-belle turned teenage divorcee turned pot-smoking self-enlightened life coach. Last time you saw her she had just finished a sabbatical in South-Asia and had insisted on wearing a brilliantly colored sari in the dead of winter.

If lunacy is a proven inherent trait, Jonas certainly received it from his mother, Annie.

She was the one who showed you how effective talking to one's plants could be.

To say Jonas was 'embarrassed by his mother' would be an acute understatement. He was absolutely mortified by her. He had every reason in the world to be, she justified it often enough with her various antics.

Such as the time he was called out to collect her in the middle of the night when she wandered the streets singing what appeared to be Zoroastrian chants in the suburbs.

The time she went to Australia and came back with an English accent.

The time Jonas was called to active duty and she cut his brake line to protest the war.

The time you woke up in the middle of the night to find her taping glow-in-the-dark stars to your ceiling.

Eccentric was one way to put it.

But despite all their fundamental differences, all embarrassing moments aside, one absolute truth remained. Jonas Hansen was a mama's boy. He put up with her admirably, because he unconditionally and assuredly loved her more than words could ever say.

The fact that such a world-weary soldier lovingly put up with such a flamboyant mother made him all the more dear to you, and somehow that much more attractive. He loved her, and he stuck by her through each and every embarrassing scenario she could conjure up. You forgot how much you miss Annie.

_You remember his embarrassed shrug upon introducing you to his mother. A heat rises in your belly, an ache thrums in your chest._

You swallow, feeling like maybe you're drowning, which inevitably makes you think about how you met him, and you can _feel_ that watery sting in your lungs. You can feel those strong arms pulling you to the surface, coughing in the bright light.  
You're too tired to have to deal with these memories.

You flick open the envelope, pulling out the ivory letter. The box drops to the floor, the photograph springs face up.

_Dearest Sammie,_

_I make no apologies darling, for that nickname I know you despise. But as you must know, "Sam" is far too commonplace these days and I fear I lack the flair for originality and apparently, as my ex-husband puts it, "good taste". In any case, I will always remember you as that bright-eyed baby-faced little girl who captured my son's heart and who I once chased out half-naked with a broomstick. I'm so glad I gave you another chance after that unfortunate incident at catching you in bed with my only child. I trust you to understand my regrettable reaction to those events. _

You cringe. Once you think you've successfully repressed a memory, another one successfully finds a way to come back to bite you in the ass. In written-form no less.

_I'm sure your own father must have undergone a similar experience…_

'Yea', you snort, _like_ you ever told him about Jonas. Dad was on the no-call list for a good many years.

…_which of course makes for delightful laughs when one thinks back on these things._

_Well I suppose, as they say, there's no point beating around the bush. I miss you. Terribly. I've even named my cat after you. I expect you to take that as a compliment. I've spent the last five years giving you the space I truly felt you deserved, my dear, after all that drama you underwent with my son. You're the daughter I've never had, and I stayed away because I was worried that you'd blame me for Jonas' fatal shortcomings; Lord knows I blame myself enough. _

A swell of affection rises in your chest; you did love her like a mother once.

_I miss my son, Sammie, I miss him so much that sometimes I imagine him here, alive. Some mornings I can hear him moving around in the kitchen, or watching a hockey game. Those moments I feel paralyzed with hope, most often fear. And then all I can do is stare at the wall and remind myself that I have to breath, to get out of bed, to continue my life with a ghost at my heels. _

_It has taken me a long time to acknowledge the role I played in his downfall, I was never a perfect mother. And throughout the process of learning to forgive myself I have come to recognize his own part in the failure that was his life. I think of you, and your vain attempt at fixing him. I don't mean to chastise you darling; I've never faulted you for leaving Jonas. I just want you to understand what it is I've come to learn. Everything that went wrong with Jonas, he did it to himself. Despite our differences on the subject, he was a good soldier. He served his country admirably and sadly did not receive the appropriate resources to help him cope with the consequences. But that was not our fault, Sammie. I understand the Air Forces 'official' position on the cause of death as being an accident, but whatever the truth may be concerning his death I have no doubt he had some hand to play in it. _

Astonishingly, you feel defensive of him, Jonas wasn't that bad. He wasn't always like that. Controlling. You weren't that much of an idiot either. You could have done more.

_I have decided that the most important thing I can do for myself is to heal. Easier said than done, I know, but I'm tired of feeling like I'm in an unescapable void. I must start anew. Hemingway once said "The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places." I will never be a whole woman again, not with my son gone. But I'm willing to try. I'm willing to grow, and to become strong once again._

You feel something hitch in the back of your throat. Oh Annie.

_I sold the orchard Sammie. Too many ghosts. I've moved to Oregon, I suppose for the change of scenery. I know I'll be content here. I live two steps away from the beach, the stars are brighter than I've ever seen them, and best of all I have yet to gain the reputation of "crazy cat lady". Hopefully come Halloween I'll actually receive some trick 'or' treaters instead of having that privileged designation of having the only house on the community blacklist. I'm very excited Sammie. I've even begun plans on a haunted house complete with zombies, spaghetti brains and homemade quicksand. Do children get heart attacks?_

'Yep', you think fondly, 'crazy as a loon'.

_It only took sixty years, but I finally feel like I can settle down. Though I will always challenge the conventions surrounding normalcy, I aim to find and accept a portion of it. I've sold almost all the remnants of my past life, donated all of Jonas' childhood items to charity. I'm successfully minimizing all of my possessions, be it transitory or of sentimental value. Jonas had given me these photographs after you called off the engagement for safekeeping. I can't throw these away, Sammie, they're not my memories. I don't mean to hurt you by springing all of this on you so many years after the fact, but I figured if you were brave enough to leave him, you'll be brave enough to put these pictures to rest. _

_I wonder if I'll be embarrassed after sending you this, I haven't revealed so much about myself in years. _

_Here's my new address in Cannon Beach, Or. I hope to one day see you soon. There's a beach out here with your name on it Sammie._

_With all my love, Annabelle Hansen. _

She never really was the same after he died. She had been broken.

You sit back, your fingers absently tracing the raised ridges of the letter.

_'Steady as she goes', _you think, blowing out a second breath.

You don't hear the voices outside, the soft laughter and feet crunching on the ground. You close your eyes.

You try to stop the memories.

You had forgotten.

Every summer he'd take you to the mountains, and in the mornings you would drink tea by the crocus lilies and make love every night by the firelight, naively dreaming of your futures. If you close your eyes you can still feel that scratchy blanket being pulled off your bare shoulder, his stubble taking its place, the warm glow of the fire blazing in his eyes. And you would lose yourself, again. The heat of desire simmering in long drawn out sighs of anticipation.

You screw your eyes shut, trying to erase it. Trying to focus on his arrogance, his ego, all the annoying aspects that had given you the courage to leave him. But in the corner of your eye you see the photograph of a young girl in a summer dress gently swinging on a tire in gold-lit barn, watched by the lean shadow of a faceless man. It taunts you.

You don't know why you feel so sad that the orchard has been sold. It's not like you had any intentions of ever seeing it again. It was just, like an encapsulation of happy memories, now dead. That part of your life is being cut away, and you're surprised to see yourself still clinging to it.

You sigh, drawing your knees upwards and gently falling to the side, resting your head on the armrest. Your toes knead the cushion, and you stare blankly at the letter. Rescuing it from your fading grasp.

He made you laugh. That's what you remember most about him in the early days. You could have a piss-poor day at the Academy, get caught in a thunderstorm when your bus never showed, be followed home by a creepy guy at nighttime and by the time you plopped down on that springy, torn mattress, he'd still manage to get you to the point where you'd be trying desperately to catch the slobber let loose as you laughed your life away.

You haven't laughed like that in years.

"Carter!"

The door bursts open, and you jump in surprise, momentarily angry at the interruption.

The moment disappears like a cut thread, frayed edges floating away.

Jack.  
Pissed off.

What the hell?

TBC.

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very likely probably certainly to be edited later on. A reviewer made a really good observation that Annie Hansen's letter wasn't really written in the style of her character, so that especially will be reworked later on.


	2. love what you know

**Chapter 2**

"Carter!"

The door bursts open, and you jump in surprise, momentarily angry at the interruption. Colonel O'Neill steps in, the lines in his face grim with caution.

"Sir!"

Blinking in surprise, you glance behind you, half expecting to see a Goa'uld judging by the expression on his face. He doesn't look nearly as concerned as he sounded. Maybe you imagined that bit.

He looks more pissed then anything, but then again that's really not an uncommon trait with him.

You feel like a deer in the headlights, more embarrassed to be caught at such a vulnerable moment than shocked that he just barged in your house. He stares at the floor with the scattered paperwork and flung shoes, slowing drawing his gaze to your figure curled up in the couch.  
He clears his throat.

"Spring cleaning Major?"

"Sir?"

With a clenched grin he lifts a finger to shake your house keys.

Keys in the door.

Shit.

You grimace, offering an embarrassed smile. Not fully knowing if you should be grateful for his disquiet. You're no longer surprised at his dramatic entrance. The Colonel's been a bit… jumpy since the whole 'abducted by ninjas' debacle.

You don't flatter yourself; his concern doesn't just lie with you. Last week at O'Malleys he gave one hell of a daunting speech to a scared love-struck college student who wouldn't stop trailing Daniel around at the pub. He was suspicious of everything and everyone. You wonder if maybe he just overcompensates for his guilt at not knowing you had been missing for two days. You don't know why you aren't feeling more angry about that particular incident. You should be. But, as you stare at him in his dark denim jeans, leather jacket, and dark blue casual dress shirt, you suddenly feel a lot more forgiving.

He interrupts your reverie.

"You _trying_ to get yourself kidnapped again?" He tosses the keys towards you.

You catch them and place them on the coffee table, unfolding your long legs to stand up. Crossing your arms, you let your eyes warily meet his, a question already on your tongue.

"Sir, with all due respect, what the hell are you doing here?"

With another cursory glance around the living room and satisfied that you're all in one piece, the tension in his shoulders immediately disappears. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and raises an offended eyebrow.

"Hey, don't get all high and mighty on me Major, I'm not the one who forgot about our dinner plans this evening."

You're stunned for a good five seconds.

"Our what?"

Smiling ruefully, he steps away from the door. An embarrassed Daniel and an unsurprisingly expressionless Teal'c appear from behind Jack, peering over his shoulder.

_Right. _It's your turn to host the monthly slob-fest of beer, pizza, and whichever movie Teal'c has yet to see.

"Hi Sam." Daniel awkwardly raises a hand in greeting.

"Major Carter." Teal'c nods, the slightest hint of affection crossing his stoic countenance. He lifts a pizza box as a more effective way of greeting.

"Hi guys." You give them an apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry, tonight completely slipped my mind. Come on in."

They file inside, shedding jackets and kicking off their shoes haphazardly. Ugh. _Men_. Daniel flicks on the hall lights, and you blink with the sudden brightness. The Colonel winces.

"You just got home or something Carter?" Is he… amused?

You narrow your eyes at him.

"Sir, why do I think you conveniently forgot to remind me this afternoon that it was my night tonight?"

Jack gives you a look of mock innocence. "Who? Me? Never!"

You pretend you didn't just see an imperceptible wink.

Daniel strains his head forward to look past you; his eyebrows rising in that quintessential look of surprise.

"Whoa, Sam, how old are you in that picture?"

You tighten your mouth. Oh. That. Leave it to Daniel to point out the object of your digression. Jack brightens, his face lighting up.

"Ooh, is that a photo album? Do I detect potential blackmail? This I gotta see."

You take a step to block Jack's quick lunge towards the couch, stopping him with a single hand. You have to hand it to him; he's perfected the art of braking millimeters from your touch. He looks down, pausing. Taking a subtle leap back. You look over at Daniel's expectant face.

"Ah, an old friend sent me a box of old photographs she thought I might want, from way back when." You can feel your heart hammering against your chest. You should have slipped it under the cushion when you had the chance. You try to hide your emotions as best you can, but they know you too well. You feel their gazes on that photograph, curious to see what you're hiding.

You feel that familiar flash of anger. You hate that they can see the picture. You didn't even have the opportunity to offer to show it to them, they just barge in here at your most vulnerable moment and you just don't know how to combat that. You don't like the expressions on their faces, the assumptions they _must _be making.

You close your eyes, mentally willing for it to disappear.

They weren't there, you think.

They couldn't feel the slant of horizontal light slashing across your skin from between the wood slats. The feel of your bare legs pressing into raised ridges on the burning hot tire swing. The burn of his gaze boring into you.

They couldn't taste the dust softly falling in the white light; floaty edges illuminated into blinding particles.

They couldn't hear the loud buzzing of cicadas in the green fields outside, the fluttering of wings in the rafters above. The creak of a taught rope.

They couldn't feel your fear, your self-loathing, the moment that picture was taken.

But now they see it, and you feel naked before them.

You think they're your friends, they should know. They deserve to know.

As thoughts form into reluctant words, the intent dissolves and shimmies away. Suddenly you feel embarrassed- no need to drag up old memories in front of a crowd. You hate being the centre of attention, a probable likelihood why you would never have made a good astronaut. All three men stare at you curiously, shifting awkwardly.

"You want to talk about it Sam?"

"Oh no no, it's no big deal", you make a big show of closing the box and putting it to the side, showing them it's of no importance.  
You _cannot_ do this tonight. Being 'one of the guys' didn't include late-night talks about ex-lovers. You might as well have suggested manicures.

You pat your palms against your thighs, rocking back on your heels.

"Anyone up for poker?" You say rushed, trying to change the subject.

"As long as its strip poker." The Colonel says dragging his eyes off the box and smiling that delectable slow grin.

Teal'c tilts his head. "I am unfamiliar with this 'strip poker'. Would I find it enjoyable?"

Jack winces. "Never mind T."

You offer a quick smile before walking to the kitchen table to dutifully clear off the week-old newspapers.

They're already making themselves at home. Jack slumps into the nearest chair while Daniel starts grabbing plates from the cupboard. Teal'c opens up the pizza and breathes in deeply. His jaw tightens in anticipation. You haven't seen him this excited in awhile.

You stick a thumb towards your bedroom. "I'm just going to freshen up." It's really hard to ignore the Colonel's curious expression as he tilts his chair back to glimpse into the open door. You quickly shut it behind you. You slide against the door unexpectedly having to catch your breath, the sudden silence and the blue darkness of the room fails to calm you.

Their original conversation abruptly ends as you leave the room, but you can still hear their murmurs vibrate through the wall.

You want them to leave, desperately. You want to turn the lights off and flip through old photographs and cry yourself to sleep. You want to dwell on memories long thought dead.

You slide into a cotton white tee and hop into a comfortable pair of jeans, all the while straining to hear the dialogue outside.

"I wonder who the guy in the photograph is." He says this nonchalantly, a bit too carefully.

"Well Jack, I imagine it's an ex-boyfriend."

You can almost hear the eye roll.

"Oh, gee, thanks for the hint Encyclopedia Brown. I meant which ex."

"I'm sure it is none of our business, O'Neill."

You love Teal'c. You really positively do.

"Yea, there. *None* of your business Jack, so no need to get all snarky with…"

You step out from the room in an attempt to avoid another hour-long banter, feigning ignorance of the muffled conversation. Their heads swivel at your entrance, smiling appreciatively at your comfortable civvies. Jack claps his hands together.

"Alright campers, let's get this show on the road".

Daniel tosses a deck of cards to him, wherein he begins to shuffle them with an experienced hand. A slow grin steals across his face as he glances around the table.

"Time to separate the men from the boys."

This time both you and Daniel roll your eyes. The game starts slow, soft laughter filling your kitchen as stories are passed alongside the food. You go through the motions, not really paying particular attention to anything.

Daniel whispers something in your ear, and you laugh dutifully. You try to make it sound genuine, he deserves that much.

_You liked how Jonas used to go asinine lengths to make you laugh. You think that's how you fell in love with him in the first place._

_You laughed so hard you broke a rib once_.

_You can't believe you almost forgot that._

_You don't even remember the joke. You just remember laughing at the absurdity of it all, the happy glint in his eyes spurring you further into peals of laughter. It was only in the emergency room when the nurses had to sedate you that you stopped giggling. The sedative wasn't even for the pain, they just gave it to you because you just could. not. stop. laughing._

You shake your head, telling yourself to focus on the game. Focus on the conversation spilling all around you.

"El Paso County's Society of Egyptology," Jack repeats slowly, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. "How… fun."

Daniel nods excitedly, shoving pizza crust in his mouth.

"Yea, it's amazing. It really is. It's great to bounce theories off of other like-minded people. The club's growing too, so far there's about 19 members."

"19 too many." Jack says under his breath, donning an apologetic grimace when you shoot him a look. You place a sympathetic hand on Daniel's shoulder.

"Don't listen to him Daniel, he's just jealous because he's never been to Egypt."

The Colonel looks appalled.

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Jealous?! Jealous of Daniel? You off your rocker Carter?"

Daniel gives him a hard stare. Jack presses on.

"Besides, been there, done that. Egypt, Abydos, tomatoes, tomaahtoes…"

"O'Neill," Teal'c interrupts, "the geographical environment may be comparable on both planets, but is it not true that after a sufficient amount of generations the populate cultures would branch off differently? Is that truly not worth examining?"

"Please," Daniel snorts as he picks up another card, "Jack wouldn't recognize culture if it slapped him in the face."

You don't hear Jack's teasing retort. Their voices wash over you. The wax sheen of the table glints from below the glaring light bulb.

_When you think of him you think of the brightness. The golden sheen of his skin, the bright mornings when the sun streamed through the windows. The bright teeth of his bright grin._

_You were made for each other._

"Carter, you awake?"

You glance over at him, blinking away the memories.

"Sorry, did you say something?"

You repress the urge to squirm under his scrutiny, but he eventually spares you. He gives you a curious look before pointing at an autographed Chicago White Sox baseball on the bookshelf, the dust almost entirely coating the black ink.

"That for real?"

You smile sincerely this time, warming at the memory.

"I doubt it. I was stuck in Chicago once on a layover and I guessed I looked pretty sad about something or other. Next think I know this strange guy tosses me that baseball and said he hope it would cheer me up." You shrug, taking a swig of your beer, a bit abashed. "I'm sure it's fake, but I suppose I appreciated the sentiment."

He gives you a warm smirk, and you're struck by the knowledge that it's been a long while since he's smiled at you like that.

"Carter, what have I told you about talking to strangers?"

Your retort is quick, as expected.

"To always take them up on their offer and follow them home?"

You try not to laugh as he sidles his narrowed eyes over to you, giving you a long stare meant to intimidate you. Teal'c leans forward, interest sparking.

"I have heard much of these so called staring contests. I have often wondered at the underlying purpose of such trivial acts." Jack ignores him. You bite back a grin.

"If you end up dead in a ditch somewhere, don't let me ever hear you say I never warned you about that attitude of yours."

"Won't I be dead?" You shoot back.

Damn, he's even more tantalizing when he's trying to duck a grin.

_Bad _thoughts Sam.

You smile and turn your attention to Daniel, stuffing gooey cheese hanging off your fingers into your mouth. You pretend you don't feel his hot stare on you. Pretend everything's normal.  
As per usual.

You do a lot of pretending these days.

Soft words wash over you as the night draws to a close. You put Jonas out of your mind as you rake in your winnings after each game; until finally the Colonel exclaims he'd much rather watch Star Wars than have you put him in the poorhouse. Jack drags Daniel away from your books, and someone puts on a Springsteen album. You like these nights when the kitchen is bathed in a warm glow and you're surrounded by the people you love, laughter filling the room as the Colonel pulls a joke out of the air at Daniel's expense.

You like nights like this, but not now. Eventually you realize that some feelings you can't shake off, and you feel bad that this evening has been ruined. Ruined by Jonas, ruined by his interfering mother and ruined by the realization that you haven't moved past him. 5 goddamn years of lying to yourself.

So you smile appropriately, make the right comments, patiently waiting the evening out.

All the while mentally urging them to hurry the hell up.

By the time you close the door you realize that the relief you've been waiting for is noticebly absent. Maybe it had something to do with Daniel's undisguised affection for you, Teal'c's comforting hand on your shoulder, the Colonel's hesitant relunctance to leave as he stepped out the doorway. Life was too complicated for it to be _that_ easy. They deserved better than you. You were too weak to save Jonas, and you are too weak to be their comrade.

You like to think that was the end of it, that tomorrow and the day after that and so on will continue as normal. You thought you did a hell of act tonight, but you know it wasn't good enough. You recognize that look in his eyes over the kitchen table. He hasn't forgotten the photograph. You'll be hearing from him again.

Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not in a month, but eventually.

* * *

During the night you lie awake in bed, listening to the branches scrape the window. You feel alone. You reach over to the bedside drawer and pull a ring from the far back. You found it in your mailbox a week after you tried to return it. It hadn't seen sunlight since you moved in.

You wonder how many years you dragged his memory behind you, without consciously thinking about it.

_Do you think of me Jonas, wherever you are?_

The lamp outside draws black and white angles on the sheets, contrasting lights reflecting inner thoughts. There is no moon, and you are too tired to wonder why the diamond is glinting as brightly as it is. Night drags the colors of your room into long shadows that hang off the bedpost.

You tighten your fist, the sharp ring digging into your clammy palm. Squeeze hard enough and you'll draw blood.

_Steady as she goes_

Just because Annie's ready to let go doesn't mean you are.

She's wrong, it wasn't his fault. You weren't there for him when he needed you the most. _For better or for worse._

He wasn't so bad.

Jonas would wait with you every morning, without fail and without an invitation. He'd wordlessly drag himself out of bed and hang out with you, freezing both your asses off at lonely bus stops to keep you company in those dark winter mornings.

You close your eyes.

Shaky breaths steaming into frozen scarves, hands jammed into warm pockets of not-so-warm jeans, hunched away from the bitter wind under a flickering streetlight. Even with your nostrils frozen together, fingers raw and red and hair formed into stiff frost, you remember how headlights of passing cars would illuminate your laughing figure, doubled over, in those dark, dark mornings.

You never wondered if he needed a laugh too.

TBC.

* * *

A/N. Has Jack ever been to Egypt? I don't remember. Ah well.

I'm not too fond of this chapter, to be honest, but you ever just get tired of looking at something? It'll be reworked later on for sure.

_Tired authors adore reviews!!! Keeps us motivated :). _


	3. barefoot girls in the summer dawn

**Chapter 3**

_August 9, 1988_

_Things were not going well._

This was, without a shadow of a doubt, the single worst date she had ever been on. 'Third time's a charm', she thought hopefully, surfacing yet again.

_Whoosh…_

Never mind.

It was going to take a hell of a lot of head smacking to rid her ears of lake water.

Her nostrils burned with the sting, and frankly she wished he could lay off the 'trying to push her skull into her spinal column' tactic. Even underwater she could hear him snorting and giggling with unrestrained delight.

Oh yes indeedy. *Bad* idea. She'd bet a million dollars that Mark was laughing his ass off right about now.

The first free summer she's been able to take advantage of in years and her ever-obliging brother decided to set her up on a blind date with a man whose mentality was that of an eight year old.

Oh he'll get his. She had the rest of August to make her brothers life absolute _hell _before he went back to San Diego_. _

_Splutter. Breathe. _

_Quick, say something before… gurgle… too late._

If he dunked her under one more time she was going to drown him.

Maybe the bikini was a bad idea.

She mentally sighed. Her date was undoubtedly having fun. And she didn't really _want _to be a spoilsport. But frankly she was a bit worried about the whole 'hadn't been on a date since she entered the Academy' issue. Two years ago. Besides, not too many girls would complain about fooling around in an isolated reservoir outside of Colorado Springs with a *very* good looking college student. It couldn't hurt to be more receptive to him, but it was becoming quite the challenge to be cute and playful. Did normal girls enjoy dates like this? Was this supposed to be _fun?_ Her lungs began to burn.

'Not an excuse Sam, you know better. Anytime Mark says he has a 'suggestion' for you, you make a run for it.'

_Gasp. Breathe. Now! _

"Don't you think we've had enough fuUNnn…" _gurgle…_

That's it. The man-child was going down.

She wrapped her arms around his legs, using the momentum of the current to pull him towards her. With a surprised cry and a few aimless hand waves he lost his balance, toppling over. She used her hands to push herself upwards, gasping for breath and blinking the water off her wet eyelashes. He laughed even harder, delighted with her reciprocal playfulness. He clapped the water, springing upwards with the sole purpose of dunking her yet again. She lunged backwards, thoroughly annoyed with him.

"Can we please stop?!"

"C'mon babe, lighten up!" Oh like hell he just said that. He waded forward, his hands excitedly reaching for her head.

"I said enough!"

* * *

One single-knee-jab-to-the-groin later, she found herself uneasily watching him storm off to the shore to collect his clothes.

What was his name again? Bill? Ted?

"Ted! Wait, I need a ride back."

"My names Fred!" He slammed his car door shut, and with one tire-induced gravel-volley he gunned away, leaving behind one wide-eyed, officially _ditched,_ date.

She groaned, closing her eyes and sinking back underwater.

So much for a relaxing afternoon. She pushed aside the worry of having to figure out the best solution to hitch a ride back into Colorado Springs. Wearing skimpy summer clothes. And _not _have her face end up on a milk carton.

She decided to stay submerged for a little longer.

Her chest tightened imperceptibly with each ticking second, suspended in the dark film. White spots scorched her vision, illuminating despite her fastened eyes. She paused to surface, gasping for air, before plunging back, sinking even further down.

Oh yea, Mark was going to receive an ass-kicking of a lifetime.

She surfaced for air a few more times, each session testing her limits.

She opened her eyes underwater, liking the weightless feeling. Her wavy hair floated and undulated like arms of drifting seaweed. Poised on the edge of oblivion. She glanced upwards to watch as the Colorado sky and the tall trees and the yellow sand cliffs be deconstructed and disassembled by the crystalline pixelation of the watery surface. The shapes changed and contorted, she was confused as to why slivers of gold appeared above her and shattered, raining down on her.

Maybe being single wasn't _so_ bad.

She counted down the seconds, suspended in limbo, waiting to feel her chest on the brink of explosion before rising again.

She felt the current change around her, an unknown tide swelling like a bubble. Large hands slid under her arms, and with a surprising swiftness she felt herself being pulled upwards, closer to the golden slivers. The sudden shift in atmosphere deferred her natural instinct to react.

She spluttered as her lungs were unceremoniously yanked from their holding position. Air rushed in. She coughed on water, momentarily blindsided by her slow reflexes. The steel arm roughly wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer to shore, not quite reaching their destination as she began to struggle.

"Hey, hey…" a masculine voice tried to sooth her.

She clawed the arm. She could feel his jaw clench against the side of her head, heard the sound of grinding teeth. He pulled her upright the second they hit contact with solid ground, though still halfway submerged. She began to panic, cataloging basic techniques from her hand-to-hand combat class. All she could feel were the resilient arms that gripped her waist, a warm wall supporting her back. Her legs lashed out furiously, clapping the water and leaping up into vacant space. He pulled her tighter against his chest, murmuring meaningless words meant to calm her down. She slammed back into that concrete wall, jabbing her head backwards and glad to feel his hands loosen after a satisfying _crunch._

"Goddammit kid, give it a fucking rest!"

He flung her away from him, her body slamming ungainly into the glass-like surface. The sharp sting merely added to her anger. She swiftly clambered to attention, taking a defensive stance. She spared a cursory glance. He was tall, and built, but so was she.

He shot her a piqued expression, tenderly rubbing his nose. "Jesus _Christ_, where'd you learn that move?"

She tried to catch her breath, shooting him a disbelieving look. Who *was* this guy?

His eyes flickered up and down, and she gritted her teeth in response.

She really wished her chest wasn't heaving right then.

"What the hell is your problem?" She was finally able to spit out.

He gave her a long, unwavering look. Like the answer was obvious.

"Oh gee, I dunno, thought you needed some rescuing or something."

She repressed an angry retort, settling for a tamer version.

"I'm fine. I was swimming, not _drowning._ I'm not two, I don't need to be _rescued!_" As though she was some goddamn damsel in distress.

He waded backwards, dragging his waterlogged legs onto the shore. He put his hands in the air, putting some distance between them, distinctly showing her she wasn't in any danger.

"I know I know. Saw you surface a few times before. Didn't think this time you were willing to make the effort."

She snorted. "What would you know?"

"Listen, don't get your panties in a twist." He ignored her pointed glare. "I'm not a rapist _or_ a serial killer, and Boy Scout's honor I do not have any intentions of getting into your pants this fine afternoon."

His eyes quickly scanned her body. "Besides, unlike that frat boy you were with, I'd like to keep my balls."

She responded with a glower.

"So you're a peeping Tom instead, huh?

He blew out an exasperated breath.

"My truck's parked near here. I came up earlier on to do some fishing, but I figured you guys would want some… alone time. Went further south instead. I was wrapping up and headed back before I saw that guy gun it. Figured he ditched you when I saw you there by yourself, trying to pull a Houdini or whatever. You were underwater for almost a minute before I figured enough's enough."

She glanced past him only to confirm a rusty fender peeking out from the tree line above. Her fingers flexed briefly before unfolding, wavering between trust and cautiousness.

He wiggled his nose, trying to regain some feeling into it. He tossed her a distrustful expression.

"If anything it'd be you kicking my ass".

"Damn straight." She mumbled under her breath, lowering her hands. Though still wary, she relaxed her body and crossed her arms. She stared at him for a few long seconds.

"Somehow I sincerely disbelieve you were ever a Boy Scout."

He grinned widely, relief crinkling around his eyes, and _damn_ his teeth were bright.

"What are you talking about, I was the perfect altar boy. A saint, even."

She raised an eyebrow. He smiled sheepishly.

"Alright, alright, I may have been the kid who beat up Boy Scouts, but can ya blame me? A twelve year old who can do bird-whistles is only asking for it."

She spared a small smile, before gesturing to the knee-high water around them, no trace of the struggle five minutes before.

"Well, thanks, I guess."

He jammed his hands into his pockets.

"Always a pleasure."

She could feel his eyes flicker down the length of her body; suddenly glad she wore the bikini. His unrepentant vision clung to her like wheat dust in certain areas, eventually trailing down her long legs. She liked that; she knew how good she looked. She worked too damn hard to achieve that reaction. She imagined how he saw her, with her long blonde hair bleached by the sun, plastered against her wet back. Her body toned and tanned; she could feel the water that dripped from her skin evaporating in the hot sun.

When his eyes finally made its way up to her face, she couldn't repress a small smirk.

She didn't feel in any way infringed upon when he had appraised her, his eyes didn't hold that leering quality she'd been so used to from some of the airmen in her classes.

Maybe it was just because he didn't stare at her predatorily with clear intentions to bang her.

His eyes bore a hole in her skin. She hadn't been stared like that in a long time. He stared at her with genuine appreciation.

Yea, it was a nice change.

She spared a hasty assessment. _Might as well return the favor._

She knew she was in trouble the minute she confirmed he was taller than herself. That was always a dealmaker with her.

His hair was the color of sandstone, the same shade as the hoodoos that cast long shadows on the river below. His eyes were the same dark green as the pine trees slanted towards them. Half his hair was matted down, one side dripping with water and curling adorably around a jutting ear.

His dark denim jeans were plastered to his long legs, the grey cotton tee molded to the hard planes of his chest.

She swallowed. Maybe today wasn't such a bad day after all.

"I'm guessing you need a ride." He paused at the cautious look that crossed her face. "Unless you'd rather walk, of course."

She pushed a hand through her hair, knowing she was being ridiculous.

"No, no, I'd appreciate it. Thank you."

They stood staring at each other for a moment longer, before she gave a succinct nod. She brushed past him, ignoring the warmth he emanated when she stepped on shore, reaching for her clothes.

"Let's get a move on then."

He stopped her with a hand, waving a finger.

"Not so fast wildcat."

_Wildcat?_ Oh that was just too lame.

"You are _not_ calling me wildcat."

"Until I find something more original, _yea_ I am, so get used to it, wildcat."

She suppressed a sigh. "What's the problem?"

He gestured to his soaking clothes.

"My truck may be a piece of shit, but I'm not going to damage it anymore till I'm dry. New seat covers and all."

She raised an eyebrow, mentally groaning.

"I just want to get out of here."

"All in good time, wildcat." He winked at her low groan.

He turned around to gesture at a low rock platform hanging off the nearest crag. With a few long leaps he climbed up, more like _strolled_ up, the boulders and rocks with an agile deftness she envied. His t-shirt pulled with the movements of his shoulder blades, riding up to a reveal a darkly tanned back. He reached the stone platform, bathed in sunlight, shading his eyes to conceal the glare.

"You coming? Or should I risk another nose-break by coming to get you?"

She waivered, glancing longingly at the truck and back again. He lay down on his back, stretched out like dried salmon, his flesh probably spotting in the heat. He rested his head on his arms and with an audible exhale his whole body relaxed.

"Fine day." He murmured.

Her decision made, she clambered up the boulders after him. He didn't offer her a hand, still sensing her wariness. She liked that.

She lay down beside him, a molecule of space separating them. She let her feet dangle alongside his off the edge, going limp as she closed her eyes. The sun was warm, the soft hairs on your arms drying and rising, unwittingly meeting the hairs on his arm in the simmering heat. Producing static electricity they both attempted to ignore. The white burn of the sun enveloped her as time slowed to a dripping beat. She could feel the edges of his wet denim poking her in the thigh as they hardened and crinkled. Unknown insects fluttered on her face, but it wasn't enough to compel her to move. Her hair spread out like a burning wreath, crackling into gold sparks as it dried. She lay there for what seemed like hours, feeling freckles form and a lightness rise in her belly.

He didn't so much as move a molecule to touch her. She liked that.

She pretended not to notice a familiar feeling she hadn't felt in a long time.

* * *

Half an hour later he politely, amazingly enough, averted his eyes as she slipped into frayed shorts and a white tank top.

He made no move to help her as they wordlessly hiked up the hill to the parked pickup.

He didn't even hold the door open for her.

Oh yea, she could learn to like him.

It wasn't until he tossed the rest of his fishing gear into the bed that he finally spoke.

"So can I ask you your name or would that just get me a punch in the balls?

She shot him a mocking glare, which he cheerfully ignored.

"I'm Jonas Hansen. Resident pain in the ass and proud of it. Nice to meet you."

She grinned, meeting his outstretched hand.

"Samantha Carter. Call me Sammie and you'll definitely feel that punch."

He returned the grin, his eyes lingering on her as she finally stepped through the passenger side door. He climbed in on the other side, tossing some garbage and cassettes into the back as she gingerly avoided sitting on anything. He turned on the engine and pulled out onto the road as Sam Cooke crackled out from the half-broken speakers. She pushed aside a rolled-up USAF sweater; she owned the same one in blue.

"Air Force?"

He glanced over to her.

"Yea, Captain. Just got upped from First Lieutenant two months ago."

She furrowed her eyebrows, tying her half-dried hair into a messy bun.

"How old are you?"

He ran his fingers through his hair uncomfortably. "Twenty-three."

She released an appreciative low whistle. "Twenty-three and already a captain. Impressive. You seen action or you just sleep your way to the top?"

He laughed, not taking his eyes off the road. "Well you know… some General's just can't resist."

She chuckled, letting it trail off to indicate she still wanted an answer. He stayed silent for a while, before shrugging.

"Sometimes it pays to bend the rules a bit." He ignored her sharp glance. "What I mean is that sometimes some jobs require certain skills that not every airman is capable of handling."

She snorted. "And you are?"

He gave her a slow grin. "Hey, I never said I wasn't cocky."

She nodded, "As I'm beginning to realize."

She liked the feel of the scratchy plaid seat fabric rub against the back of her thigh, a strip of glowing sheen ran down her legs, and she liked that he kept glancing over. He rested his arm out the window, tapping the side of the door to the beat of "A Change is Gonna Come". He pursed his lips, considering.

"Let me guess, military brat?"

She half shrugged. "That too."

He glanced warily at her.

"You're Air Force, aren't you?"

She leaned her head against the window, watching as flecks of sun dapple and pattern his face through the trees outside.

"Getting there, only a Second-Lieutenant. Not all of us can aspire to be big mighty Captains such as yourself." She teased. His eyes filled with mirth.

"Parent's military then?"

She yawned, stretching her arms above her, enjoying the barely perceptible swerve of the pickup as he noticed the taut stretch of white fabric.

"My dad is, he's a USAF General.

His eyes snapped towards her.

"Wait. Is your dad General Carter? General _Jacob_ Carter?"

She shone a teasing smile.

"Of course he is. Why wouldn't he be?" He groaned, mumbling something about pretty girls and superior officers. "I met him once at a banquet in DC, I was pretty hammered and made a complete idiot of myself. I think I may have puked on his shoes."

"Classy."

"I'm a classy guy, wildcat." He paused, opening and closing his mouth nervously. "He doesn't have, like a really good memory or anything, right?"

"That man will hold a grudge till his dying days Hansen. Sorry to break it to you."

"Great."

She slipped a foot out of her sandal, kneading the carpet below. She felt surprisingly comfortable despite the recent events. He sighed; the sun was falling perfectly through his open window and further darkening his impossibly tanned skin. He spared another glance.

"I haven't see you at the Academy."

She thought about it, considering. "Maybe you have and just don't remember it. I have a pretty ordinary face."

He looked as though he was repressing a snort, disbelief crossing his features. He opted out of the obvious retort.

"Considering there's about twenty women at the Academy, I find it hard to believe I've never seen you."

She chuckled, of course he had already scoped out all the women.

"Well I also spend a lot of time at UCCS."

"Getting a degree while you're at it?"

"Yep. Majoring in mathematics right now, I'm thinking about switching to Astrophysics."

He slowly rotated his head towards her, widening his eyes in trepidation.

"Astrophysics…" He blew out a breath, "So, you're like genius material, right?"

She ducked her head, embarrassed. She was never comfortable telling people what she was taking for that very reason.

"No more than anybody else."

This time he really did snort. "'Cause that's a subject people are lining up for, I have never…" She interrupted him, straightening her back and staring circumspectly out of the window.

"Where are we going? We're off the main road. Jonas?"

He had pulled onto a gravel path; trees in soldier-like stance pillared the trail ahead. The bright green of the foliage darkened into a murkier shade. Tall willows and pines cast long shadows, long limbs providing an all-encompassing canopy.

"Relax." He smiled apologetically. "I have to make a quick stop."

She assessed him; he did seem fairly calm. She wasn't as worried as she thought she should be.

"Why, you saw a Boy Scout looking for a beating?"

"Oh hardy har har."

"Seriously though, Jonas."

"Well…" He paused, blushing.

_Blushing?_ Of all the things she thought this man was incapable of. Oh this had to be bad.

"I have to pick up another passenger."

She slumped back into the seat, crossing her arms warily.

"Oh?"

He smiled, embarrassed.

"Yea. Uh, you don't mind if my mom tags along do you?"

She's stunned for a few good seconds, before laughing long and hard.

"Hey!" He chuckled back. "I can't exactly leave her behind. I mean she didn't fly all the way to Colorado Springs for her only child to ditch her in the woods."

She wiped away a few tears.

"I guess I didn't take you for a momma's boy is all."

He laughed outright, tossing the USAF sweater at her head.

"Well with girls like you running wild, I needed to get me a chaperone."

She flashed him her famous Carter grin, trying to restrain the giggles.

"So do tell, Jonas Hansen, what exactly are you and your mother doing out here in the middle of nowhere?"

He scrunched his eyebrows together, not quite knowing how to answer.

"Ah, my mom is, ok my mom is different from other moms, alright? She is a very… spiritual woman. She's very, uh, in touch with her…" He blew out another breath, "… her divine roots as she puts it."

She nodded slowly, unable to picture this rough man with a devout mother.

"She wanted some time by herself so she could pray. Says that nature helps clear her mind."

She blinked. "Praying? To who?"

He shrugged, unable to fully explain the mystery that was his mother. "I dunno, Allah, Buddha, the Goddess of fertility. It changes bi-weekly."

"Ah." She put a hand to her chest, trying to restrain the shake of her laughter. "I'll be very interested in meeting her."

He glanced over, catching sight of her clenched lips.

"Oh shut up you." He laughed, rubbing a hand across his face. He pulled into a gravel alcove.

* * *

Five minutes later, at the southernmost end of the reservoir, she finally met Annie Hansen.

She shared a long look with Jonas, clearly surprised. Everything she had envisioned of Hansen's mother in the past few minutes were both confirmed and tossed away.

"Don't..." He glanced worriedly at her, "…just don't, uh, judge me for anything she may say or do. My mom's in a league of her own."

She smiled, her excitement slowly clicking higher. She nodded at the quay below the hillside.

"Lead on Macduff."

Their voices were carried downstream, catching the attention of the older woman.

"Jonas! There you are!"

A petite woman wearing a mauve sari lifted a waving hand, her hair glinting with gold and grey. She rolled up a prayer rug that lay on the dock, shoving it under her arm. She hitched up the bottom hem of the sari and began scaling the rocky hill, gripping one or two trees.

"Mom, MOM!" Annie glanced up in innocent askance. Sam bit her cheeks to keep from laughing. "Stay down there! I'll help you up! Jesus, just stop or you'll break your fool neck."

Both women grinned.

Jonas strode effortlessly down towards her, letting his feet skid down the leafy slope for the last few steps. He snatched the rug away, using his other arm to slip around her waist to guide her as they gingerly scaled upwards.

Sam ducked a blush as she caught the hushed whispers between mother and son.

"Why Jonas, that girl has legs up to her armpits."

He smiled up at the girl waiting by the truck.

"I hadn't noticed mom."

He half-lifted his mother for the last two steps, pushing her up to the solid flat ground. The older woman didn't take her eyes off of Sam. Jonas stepped between them, awkwardly shoving a hand through his hair and gesturing at both of them.

"Mom, this Samantha Carter. We're going to give her a lift back to Colorado Springs. Sam, this is my mother, Annie Hansen. "

The skin around her eyes were gently creased with laugh lines, her eyes the palest shade of blue. Like early dawn on the Pacific Ocean. Wisps of gold hair shot out of her messy braid, tossed over her shoulder. Her face, neck and arms were consumed by brown freckles that danced and splotched across her normally fair skin. Smaller freckles melted into bigger ones, and they existed in every nook and cranny that crossed her face. Annie bestowed her best critical appraisal of the young woman in front of her.

"Well Jonas, I do sincerely hope this young creature was the one who gave you that becoming bruise on your cheek. " She spoke with a hint of a southern drawl.

Amazingly enough he looked almost proud.

"Sure was."

Annie released a wide grin, the lines around her eyes crinkling with amusement.

"I like her already."

Sam smiled shyly, holding out a hand. She widened her eyes as Annie wrapped her a tight hug.

"Uh… nice to meet you Mrs. Hansen."

"Call me Annie dear, I am no longer a Mrs. I am so glad my son introduced us, isn't this a fine day for new friends?"

Jonas jammed his fists into his pocket as his mother tapped him affectionately on the cheek in silent praise, giving a dubious Sam an embarrassed smile. Annie nodded succinctly.

"I will call you Sammie." She kissed her lovingly on the cheek before walking to the truck.

"Well actually…" She was cut short by a fervent shake of Jonas' head.

He leaned to whisper in her ear. "Mom may like you right now, but she could change her mind in a split second. In fact just… watch out altogether. She's a bit overprotective."

She raised an ambiguous eyebrow, releasing a breathy chuckle as she followed Annie into the pickup. Jonas was close behind. The woman smelled like rosemary and cloverleaves.

"I appreciate the ride back Annie." She leaned over to the woman sitting beside her. Annie simply nodded.

"I am sure the Great Uncreated Creator Ahura Mazda had raison d'être for placing you in our path this afternoon. I hold no regrets for new acquaintances."

Sam glanced over to Jonas, mouthing 'who?' the minute Annie's attention was diverted. He closed his eyes, embarrassed, wearing an expression of 'beats the hell outta me' on his face. He sighed and started the engine, grimacing at the prospect of an hour-long drive.

She smiled; he was adorable when he was humiliated.

"Jonas, I'm famished. Let's get a bite to eat."

"Yes mother." He replied dutifully. Sam turned a laugh into a cough.

Oh yea, an unrepentant momma's boy.

What was she getting into?

* * *

For a woman who seemed as off-hinged as Annie Hansen was, she had surprisingly impeccable manners. She carefully unfolded the napkin and placed it on her lap, back held straight and careful not to put her elbows on the table. They had just slid onto to the firm pleather cushions of the booth at 'Mick's Roadside Diner', waiting for their food to arrive. Jonas spread his long fingers on the white tabletop, staring at them awkwardly as his mother flattered the waitress. Sam smiled at him, mirth overflowing in her gaze. He grinned back, shrugging a shoulder in acceptance.

She was amazed to see burly truckers glance over at the older woman, appreciatively checking her out. Big, gruff guys not at all fazed by the gaudy colored Sari or the hennaed arms. Sam rubbed her cheeks, feeling the heat emanate from the red skin. The bright sun that streamed from the large windows merely highlighted her flushed face, an ebbing burn beginning to surface.

As the waitress finally made her escape, Annie turned her attention over to the girl.

"So Sammie, would it be rude of me to ask you about your life?"

She shook her head, "No, not at all. Um, there's not much to say, really, I'm in the Air Force and…"

Annie shot out a bark of laughter, clapping a hand over her eyes in disbelief.

"Another one?! Do recruiters just stand right outside of High Schools?"

Sam glanced at Jonas, a nervous smile playing on her lips. His mother continued.

"Ugh." Annie scoffed, waving a hand in dismissal. "The Air Force, bane of my existence. Charmed my boy like the snake tempted Eve. He was always a weak child that one, his no-good father's son through and through."

"Thanks mom." Jonas replied sardonically.

"I apologize Sammie, but I must insist we change the topic. Nothing riles me up like the mention of the Armed Forces."

Sam nodded awkwardly.

Annie quickly changed the subject.

"Do you have any dogs? Oh I do love dogs, I have two German Shepherds back home. I used to have six of them but the powers that be said there were laws against that sort of thing; buggers took them away one by one. Do tell me you have dogs."

She was met with a pair of incredulous eyes. Sam shrugged, amazed by her apologetic grimace.

"Well, I guess I'm more of a cat person."

Jonas groaned in disappointment. He shook his head in mock despair.

"Well damn, guess you and me will never be."

She gave a surprised snort. "Beg pardon?"

"Hate 'em. Cats I mean."

"What my dense child means to say, Sammie, is that he has _yet_ to garner an affinity for cats. Heavens knows why, even the Egyptian Pharaohs revered them. In fact there is a comical story in which the King of Abyssinia sat on…"

Jonas quickly interrupted her after a quick swig of his beer. He tossed his head.

"I'll never trust anything that would eat me if I died tomorrow on my living room floor."

Annie rolled her eyes.

"Oh pish posh. It's because of Oscar, isn't it?"

"Mom." He said warningly.

Sam leaned in, exaggerating her excitement as he dropped his head into his hands. Annie chuckled in amusement.

"I swear, it's been over a decade and he's never forgiven Oscar."

"Damn animals", he grumbled, "when I was stationed in Greece strays were everywhere, claw your eyes out given the chance. Nobody wants 'em."

"Them, darling, 'nobody wants _them_. You weren't raised in a barn." She patted Sam's hand. "It was because of Oscar, don't let him tell you otherwise."

"Who's Oscar?"

Annie smiled in remembrance, recollecting her thoughts.

"When Jonas was a boy, our neighbors gave him a darling little tabby with the unfortunate moniker of Oscar. Why I'll never know."

"Oscar the Grouch." Sam and Jonas spoke simultaneously, glancing over to share a long smile. Annie continued.

"Now we lived on a farm in Steuben, and the school bus would pick him up from the far end of our acreage. Every morning Oscar would follow Jonas all the way to the bus stop, without fail. And every day at 3:10 Oscar would be sitting there patiently, tail flicking in the same exact spot, waiting for him to get off the school bus."

Sam grinned over at him.

"This went on for two years. They were best friends. Now one drizzly day Jonas stepped out of the bus, but Oscar was nowhere to be found. He had simply disappeared. The poor child walked up and down that long road in the rain, calling his name. But Oscar still never showed. Disappeared off the face of the planet that afternoon."

Sam's eyes widened at the story, glancing sympathetically at Jonas' grumbling form, slouched across from her.

"Damn cats."

"No." She sighed, "My son will never be a cat person, much to his discredit."

He raised a beer in a lonely toast. "And proud of it."

Sam slowly glanced at the two of them, her small smile splitting into a wide grin.

"That is too… freaking adorable."

Jonas shot her a dirty look; his mother patted him on the shoulder.

The younger woman didn't quite understand why a dead cat would make him that much more attractive to her, but she shook her head in empathy.

"Poor Oscar." She sighed.

"He got what he deserved. Hope he got run over." Jonas retorted, taking another swig of his drink.

Annie shook her head, defeated. "Some grudges just simply can't be tossed to the wind."

"You didn't strike me as being one of those sensitive types Hansen." Sam teased.

"I'm an onion wildcat." He winked. "Gotta peel the layers."

Leonard Cohen's 'Take This Waltz' wafted through the diner, catching Annie's ear.

"Now if you will excuse me, I have to pay my respects." She abruptly stood up, folding the napkin and placing it carefully on the table.

As Jonas and Sam stared in horror, Annie began to dance to the soft music. All the patrons in the restaurant went silent as all eyes turned to her. Jonas groaned and dropped his head in his hands; Sam gave a surprised laugh. The older woman waved her scarf to accentuate the beat in certain areas,

"Hansen, your mother is the most interesting person I have ever met."

"I thought I was."

"You can't hold a candle to her." She said, captivated by the woman's antics.

"Gee, thanks."

She put her elbows on the laminate covered table, laughing.

"Wow. WOW."

Jonas grimaced. "Yea… I know." He sighed. "Don't be fooled by her though, she's not exactly a hippie. She's just overcompensating because she was born rich. Her dad owned a mill in Virginia."

"Really?"

"She didn't want anything to do with that life, bought an orchard in Maine instead. You don't pay the mortgage on that by selling weed and advocating you're a socialist. She's embarrassed by the fact that she's from old money. I mean, yea, she's also naturally crazy, but I think she did a lot of acid in the 60's."

She laughed.

He leaned in conspiratorially. "Wanna trade moms?"

She looked at the table, her smile wavering. She always felt like a bit of a bastard whenever she had to explain about her mother. It was worse because she knew they never intended to bring up the awkward topic, and she always hated that they always mentally kicked themselves for it. She tried to make light of it.

"No can do, Hansen. Died years ago. How bout a grizzly old Air Force General instead?"

He winced. "Aw damn", he sat back, "I'm officially a jackass. I didn't think."

She shrugged.

"Don't worry about it, you couldn't know. I'm serious though, I have a dad who I haven't purposefully talked to in two years in need of a good home."

He slowly smiled.

"That so?"

"I mean, if you can handle daily mental ass-kicking. Whatever floats your boat right?"

He assumed a serious countenance, contemplating. "Is he anything like you?"

She sighed. "Unfortunately."

Jonas crossed his arms. "Who knows, maybe I could learn to like a little mental ass-kicking."

Sam flushed, picking at the paper coaster. "What makes you think you would like me?"

His eyes flickered down her body appreciatively. "Well, I like any girl that likes a guy like me."

Man that was a lot of 'likes'.

She scoffs, laughing in disbelief.

"Oh do I now? Where did you gather that opinion from?"

"You wouldn't be sitting here if you didn't."

"Naw, I'd probably still be half-drowned down by the reservoir. Have you considered the possibility that I'm just using you for the free ride?"

He leaned in even closer.

"Hell no, I saw you eyeballing me, wildcat. You want me."

She chuckled, running a hand over her messy bun.

"So the past two hours of knowing each other and you're still unable to come up with anything cooler than wildcat."

He shrugged. "It sticks. Better than half-drowned rat." She flicked her straw at him.

"I dunno Hansen, it's hard for a girl to fall for a guy completely whipped by his mother."

He laughed, sitting back.

"Hey, we all have our crosses to bear. Mine just so happens to be a psychotic middle-aged woman who once thought it was ok to perform an exorcist on a twelve year old." He glanced past her shoulder. "And speak of the devil."

Annie appeared at the table, flushed and laughing.

"You two are so glum and boring. Come on Sammie, keep me company."

Sam stared at Jonas, the butterflies in her stomach doing an Irish jig.

"I'm, uh, not much of a dancer Annie." Apprehension began to creep in.

"Well screw that!" Both heads swerved in surprise. "Everyone's a dancer, with a little experience. C'mon now."

Annie made a grab for Sam's arm, pulling her out of the seat as she laughingly relented. Jonas held his palms out, unwilling to help her out. She grinned down at him.

"If I don't make it out alive in five minutes, make a run for it."

As Annie dragged her out into the middle of the diner as the next song clicked on, she tried to ignore the heat in her back as he watched her. He laughed as she stumbled over her feet, and she'd occasionally glance over in embarrassment. The music wafted around them, and Annie's warm hand made her think of her mother.

By the second song it took every ounce not glance back at the booth, to confront those burning eyes and soft smile.

Somehow she knew that come September she'd be seeing a new face at the Academy.

Maybe today wasn't such a bad day after all.

And luckily for Mark, she was feeling awfully forgiving.

* * *

Yea… Annie's a bit much. But don't we all have that one psychotic relative… no? Just me?

Wow, way longer than I had intended. The last part in the diner might be deleted... or just severely edited.

Rereading this, I realized they do a lot of "glancing over at each other" and a hell of a lot of grinning. Will be fixed... when I stop being so... ya know, lazy.


End file.
